


Southern Nights

by Lilac_satan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baker Castiel (Supernatural), Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Dumbass Dean Winchester, Fix-It of Sorts, Law Student Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Canon, Romantic Dean Winchester, Sarcastic Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilac_satan/pseuds/Lilac_satan
Summary: "This was one of my mom's favorite songs. I used to sing it all the time, never played it on the radio, though. I never wanted her to. It always sounded best when she sang it." He said it with so much love and affection. Castiel hoped he spoke of him that way too, when someone at work or when he ran errands asked him who he was; how he was; and what he was up to. That Dean could find little things to love about him just as much as the big things.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	Southern Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavylifting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavylifting/gifts).



> I had the lovely opportunity to write for [heavylifting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavylifting/pseuds/heavylifting) for the Profound Bond Exchange. Hope you enjoy!! :))

Castiel would never know if angels forgot any of their exhaustingly long existence. It was an answer that he could not find amongst the millennia worth of scriptures in his father's private library. Instead, it was an answer that the angel could only find in a way so akin to human tradition of storytelling. He wondered if that's why his search was doomed from the start—abstained from speaking their thoughts, withholding their experiences, and brainwashed into submission. Millennia before Earth had been conceived, they spent their time much like how they did after God's disappearance, in quiet and empty silence, waiting, patient for a command. Commands that never came, the more time he had to think, he realized the foolishness of their unwavering faith. Their direction came from such a short era of prosperity and obedience, and as Jesus completed his journey, he abandoned them again. Even when it ended, they waited.

His days in Heaven had been dull, a monotone repetition of a seemingly well-oiled machine only held up by appearances and well-spoken lies. Hours spent standing perfectly still, his only view the same blinding white that painted Heaven, his mind wandered into his unsatisfaction. Seraph, a title many coveted, and instead, he had his sights on the lowly position of librarian, Uriel had sneered at him once. Stepping away from him as if he were poisonous, maybe he was right. And despite his initial shame, Castiel never felt more joy than when he was stationed on Earth, given expeditions to see a life the angel didn't know he would grow to yearn. He became well versed in life, but not in living. Even now, even after everything, he felt guilty. He was given life, and all he could do was wallow, seeping into his regrets.

It wasn't his running that had left the Winchesters angry, disappointed, and desperate to drag him back to the bunker, not the overwhelming emotion they were sure the angel felt. After controlling his life and wishing him dead, he was just like the people he'd forgotten, sick and mortal, awaiting inevitable judgment. He had run from Chuck, not God. He kept reminding himself. Much rather, it was the same issue they dealt with time and time again, the lack of communication, and with no Jack to aid them, all they could do was wait for Castiel's return.

His first act of freedom had been to run. He hated himself for it. He couldn't even say he was productive, a whole month squandered, sitting in a hotel in some city in Texas he had never bothered to find. Just letting time be, pass and go, unbothered and unwavering to his troubles, it allowed him to be whatever he wants, and in turn, he reverted to his seraph state, waiting. But he was tired, he's been tired, and why shouldn't he be able to slump around until he found himself. It came to him suddenly, a moment of clarity. He had always been himself, had broken from Heaven and God and followed his own plan without hesitance, reunited with who he was.

That didn't make his return any less embarrassing at first. He contemplated just not going back for a while. It wasn't like he hadn't taken a hike for longer than a month before. Although the longer he spent away, the angrier the brothers were, and he'd much rather keep the anger at a minimum considering how much he'd already messed up. He'd come back like a dog with his tail between his legs. For a split second, he thought about just popping into his room and carrying on with his routine but quickly discarded it and knocked on the bunker door. They were on their way out. Dean had only spared him a passing glance before pushing past him. He'd stayed in the bunker for the following hunts. While his relationship with Sam had gotten stronger, Dean and himself had stayed stagnant, and surprisingly chores were the ones keeping him together. Still, they all orbited together, gravitating towards each other. 

They, the ragtag family that was the Winchesters, would be the only ones who would ever know the extent of what their lives had forced them through, pain and loss, and the validation that came from making an impact. The cost came with knowledge and the guilt that came from not doing anything. But they were only getting older. Castiel saw it in the way Dean immediately ran to the shower after a hunt to ease the ache in his knees, or how Sam had bought wrist braces for the pair of them. It shouldn't have shocked him as much as it did when they came to him with a proposal to leave behind the world that the plot had forced on them. 

As always, Sam had the next four years of his life planned out reasonably well, considering nothing in their life ever was planned out. He was determined to pick up where he'd left off in law school. The youngest of the three couldn't make it in time for general admission, but he saw the bright side to it. He could attend classes at a community college, start his application now, and get all his false documentation in order. Nothing would deter him from this. With Eileen continually rooting him on, Dean encouraging him albeit more lowkey, he doubted he needed anything more to go for it. He'd felt it coming in the past few weeks. Sam had seemed more distracted, researching despite having laid off hunts, his concern for how Dean would take it now blatantly evident. 

Days leading up to his leave were sad but not unwelcomed, he was doing what he wanted, and nothing could make the other two happier. Eileen had stopped by more often, helping Sam pack whatever she could and catching up with Castiel from his time missing. He'd pulled him aside his last day in the bunker, the rest of the family packing up the truck. To say it was suggestive would be a severe understatement. He spoke of things Cas couldn't force himself to say out loud. Maybe it was a human thing. It was more likely a Winchester thing to be so blatant when they become determined.

"We almost cut it close a couple of times, you were there to save us a handful of them, but it was always an exchange. Jack's hands-off and everything, but he gave us all a blank slate. I think about it now. It all seems unreal, but you know, what I'm trying to say is there is no time for waiting. Do you understand? You're family, we love you regardless of sexuality or anything, and I know Dean does too. So tell him, if not for anything, then just to get it off your chest." He didn't know what to say, it was embarrassing to know that Sam knew, but he never got the chance to say anything. The younger Winchester spotted Dean and quickly ran after him. There was no doubt he was having the same conversation with him, an embarrassing way to make a dramatic exit, leave it to Sam. 

Even then, he didn't know what to do with that talk. The question of if Dean felt the same lingering in his mind, but what if he did, what if it was mutual? How long had they been skipping around each other, hoping for the same thing, and held back by the same fears? It would be so easy to blame it on God, everything was his fault when it came to them, but even if their will had been their own since the beginning, neither of them imagined it would be much different. But Sam left in the act of defiance of sorts, not only to the story that threatened to chain him into submission but to two of his closest friends and family. Even then, they had been too dense and after a week of his leave, spent in awkward stares and long stretches of silence, Dean was the one to approach him.

_ "Hey, Cas." It was a Tuesday, but it all seemed to blend into one another. Since Sam had left, he had taken it upon himself to pick up where he left off, Dean loved to cook, but everything else had fallen onto his younger brother and now on Castiel. He scheduled his days around his chores. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. Hunts were at an all-time low. Hue had his suspicions Sam had something to do with it. Eventually, he would get a job, maybe a waiter in the dinner by the interstate, that seemed like the logical next step. _

_ "Hello Dean." Castiel almost missed it, Dean's lip curling upward. He was half-convinced he had imagined it if it wasn't for the softness that came with his approach. He'd have to mop the kitchen again, disdainfully looking at the trail of mud Dean was leaving behind as he signaled to the dining table. They had started with four chairs, a spare in the backroom. Now they were down to just the two. It sparked sadness in both of them. _

_ It didn't spark the same sadness that it did when Sam had taken of soulless, empty and wild, a loose cannon that had pulled them in together if only out of worry, even if it was his fault. Nor this latest time, going off to school was a hopeful sign that they could all move past this period of their life. _

_ "I'm not hunting anymore." The hunter, well ex-hunter now, said it rushed, almost pained. For him, it was a sudden and unforeseen transition. A sharp cut from a life he had followed religiously for years, but this was nothing but gradual, starting from discovering the men of letters bunker. In a way, it was beautiful to see Dean grow from thinking he was just a brutal hunter to a more intellectual and informed one, and now to admit to himself and this view of the unbeatable man he'd formed of himself that he was finally stepping down. Sam would be proud. Anyone who had ever known Dean Winchester would be proud. Castiel was. _

_ "I assumed." He replied just as quickly, smiling when Dean looked up from where he'd been fixated on, an apparent distraction from what he thought was the most groundbreaking news. Had he expected resistance? The angel felt the impulse to apologize if he ever made the hunter believe he was suitable for hunting. He knew more than anyone just how much Dean was worth. The brothers should have left the scene ages ago, they should have been let go, but things didn't pan out that way. _

_ "Yeah, I mean, the bones just aren't like they used to be. But you know Sammy went back to school, not that I want to do that, school was always his thing, but I think maybe getting out of the bunker is the next step. Can't live our whole lives here, can we?" Sam left. He expected that. Dean to quit was next in line, but the bunker was so deep-rooted into their lives, in many ways, it was all three of them their first homes. It was the first time Dean didn't have to give anything to stay. He had his own room, his own space. It was his.  _

**_ We _ ** _. Castiel's stomach threatened to turn itself over, the prospect of Dean actually wanting him a bit too good to be true. He couldn't get his hopes up. He shouldn't assume. _

_ "I guess not. Where are you going?" He was happy, even if it meant moving on. Dean had taken the next step to make a clear distinction between the person he was and who he wanted to be now. It was time Castiel did the same. Not some plot device, not in a way to move the story along, but for himself to let go of the guilt he had carried for years. To start over. _

_ "Well, I was hoping we could go, you know. I mean, if you want to, you're free now and all that, you are free to do whatever you want. Just in case maybe you do, the doors open." Whether out of stupidity or not, Dean never thought he'd have to explicitly ask Castiel to stay. So far, he'd been eloquent in his request. Castiel always followed. Castiel was always there. He never had to do anything but ask, no explanation needed, but maybe that was all part of God's sick joke. He was an idiot not to see that, but even when the thought did settle in his mind, he refused to let it just be. Regardless of how unelegant his plea was, it was authentically his. _

_ "Where do you plan on moving us to?" He followed. Of course, he would follow because just as God had informed them, he never did what he should have. He'd never been happier for his 'faulty' wiring. The move wasn't a cop-out to face his own faults, to right his wrongs, but the angel had time. More than anyone could imagine or have, and Dean didn't, he would spend it how he wished. _

_ "Back home." There was no use hiding anymore, both smiling genuinely. He no longer saw it as a risk, reaching across the table, laying his hand open for Dean. Castiel was the one to let go first, the smile never leaving his face, picking up the mop and getting back to work as they both stayed enjoyed their silent company. In a week, Castiel's research had paid off, and they were packing up the impala for the big move. Just them, Dean and Castiel, no labels or titles. They had waited twelve years. They didn't need to rush anything. _

Looking for houses was the only objective he had after the painful defeat that had been God's demise. For so long, the trio had been fueled by the need to save someone from something that, without it, his days had been spent collapsed on himself. Not unhappy, not overjoyed, but in a state of uncomfortable domesticity that he had never had to focus on when he had his grace taken away years prior. Hours of void staring intensely onto what he could only assume was the fan of their room, deformed monstrously by the darkness, led the way into questionable and useless thoughts until the fan had slowly regained its form. It all filtered through a small sliver of space provided by their black curtains. On days that he felt himself slipping into the part of him that had never let go of the monstrosities of his servitude to Heaven, he spent those days on the porch. Holding it together until two hours before sundown, Castiel would sit on the outdoor garden bench and look over their small plot of land. Eventually, Dean, exasperated and worried, carefully would pull him back into the house to lay him to rest. 

Domestic life was a good look on Dean. Both of them had started off the same. Dean had applied and rapidly gotten a mechanic position in a shop further into the city. Castiel had been hired as a baker, given the lack of ability to tase anything, it didn't make much sense, but he got it, baking was more about accuracy than taste, and he'd only been praised for his pastries since. Besides working, however, that was all there was to him. He was just there. Dean had acclimated to it so quickly that Castiel was left the odd man out, hovering over him as he bumbled around the house going about the day. It was only after the first few nights that Dean had enough of Castiel standing over his bed, dragging him next to him and grumpily telling him to at least close his eyes and relax.

The house was convenient. Dean wasn't particularly fond of his description. It was a newly remodeled farmhouse, none of which Castiel cared for. The black roof and white window trims were far more captivating than the master suite the realtor tried showing them, in his opinion. But Dean had fallen in love with the kitchen, all new stovetops, and white granite. Everything else was fine. They had slept in worse rooms. It came with a decent amount of land, with a lovely run-down barn that they had yet to demolish. It was a peaceful life. God and his twisted need for an elaborate story had long owed both brothers their freedom, not the sporadic periods of peace they had sampled throughout their fifteen-year rollercoaster of apocalypses. The brothers found peace, Dean found peace, that's all he wanted. 

"Cas?" Even after all this time, he saw Dean the same as all those years ago, a soul so bright even hell couldn't wear him down. The couple had often repeated the same conversation since they moved in, and in times of desperation, he fled to the porch for any sense of calm. His response flowed smoothly, the same one he'd given since they'd moved back to Lawrence.

"It's lovely out. I didn't want to miss it." In the beginning, right when they had moved in, too many things still troubled him, but to stay quiet was to be strong, and in his effort to not push his luck with Dean's kindness, he had kept to himself—spending hours on hours waiting, just like he had with his siblings all those years ago. But there was no need to wait. It was a startling intruding thought. There was no need to see as those he cared for on Earth faded away because he could be there now. All he had to do was act on it. 

"It is, but I'm sure inside is gonna be much better," Dean answered, moving to sit next to Cas. The sunset had long passed. If he weren't focused on getting Castiel inside, he would've admired the sky a bit more. Take a picture or two and send them to Sam. You didn't get star-speckled skies like this over there. 

"Oh sure, I'm sure the burnt pancake smell is definitely gone by now, Mr. Masterchef." Unbelievable. Honestly, he had started cooking years ago, Dean very much was a master, and Cas took this one time he messed up and threw it at him. Low fucking blow. It really was all Castiel's fault anyway. For a man that needs no sleep, he had to be forced out of bed. It was cute except when it meant they had to rush through breakfast and speed to work. Castiel could lay down somewhere, anywhere, and just stay there for hours. He didn't have that luxury, so in between figuring out where he had left his work boots, tugging on Castiel's arms, and panicking over if they'd locked up the chickens last night, his pancakes had sadly perished. 

Instead of helping with anything, the fire alarms didn't help to the panic of that morning. The angel had burst out of bed, running downstairs, taken one good look at the war zone that was the ground floor, and laughed his way out into the chicken coop. If he was any less of a man, he would've made him walk to work, no fancy angel teleportation, leave him waiting there in the coop with their three hens. Instead, he yelled at him to get his ass in the car and slumped into the car seat. The couple spent the car ride to the bakery in a fit of barely contained giggles and half-assed glares. At least he got a free muffin courtesy of the angel.

"Oh, so you don't know who Jabba the Hutt is, but you get that culinary reference, that's not fair. I've been trying to get you to watch the movies for ages, and instead, you spend your time watching a Scott, an Italian, and Graham."

"Jabba the Hutt is a disgusting overgrown slug, an abusive one at that, not particularly my taste. I'd much rather spend my free time watching anything else. Gordon Ramsay is an interesting chef and a  _ good _ chef, unlike  _ someone _ I know." Dean abruptly stood up, taking a few deep breaths to prepare himself, and sure enough, when he turned around, Castiel was smirking. He should've known. Regardless he stretched out his hand and smiled back at him.

"That is an absolute lie, and you know it. Who does Sam come to spend Thanksgiving with? Us, and it because of me, so zip it and get inside." Castiel took his lover's outstretched hand, letting him pull him up and lead him back inside. The room was dark, the burnt smell gone and replaced instead with a sweet honey lavender he could only assume was coming from the candles scattered on the drawer and table. While only illuminated by candles, the room was brightest on the small lamp table next to their couch, circling an old-timey phonograph.

"I'm not sure I understand," Castiel said as Dean moved to stand next to the phonograph.

"What is their not to understand? There's, you know..." Dean said, waving his arms around to motion to the entirety of their living room. Now that he let the initial surprise settle in, he could take it in. Dean had cleaned up, no dishes in the sink or the rack, Dean had swept and mopped, made the room as presentable as the hunter could. He must've gone through his closet to get the off-white throw Eileen had knitted for them as a housewarming gift, Dean had moved the coffee table, but no matter how hard he tried to find it, he couldn't locate it. Dean moved closer to the phonograph, hesitating for a second before pushing the needle onto the disc. Softly, the music started.

_ Oh. _

"And what is it?" What are you asking me to do?" Castiel took a few steps closer, smirking his way until he was face to face with the notably flushed Dean. 

"I don't have to say it." He mumbled, determined not to give in. Cas was an angel. He was sure he could make a pretty accurate guess as to what was going on. Unfortunately, they both stubbornly fought for what they wanted, silently daring the other not to say anything, but Dean was going to have to bite the bullet. He'd been planning this for weeks. The planning part didn't take long. It was the hyping himself up—the deep breaths and passive-aggressively speaking to himself in the mirror.

"Dance! God, Cas, you're really pulling my teeth here. I'm asking you to dance, you know, with me. Right now, I mean, I just thought it'd be nice." He started off bold, but as he got further into his plea, he got quiet. Only getting more frustrated, Cas found it endearing. 

"It is nice. I didn't know you knew how to dance?" Dean let out a noise of indignation, sure he wasn't precisely the dancing queen, but he could hold his own well enough on the dance floor," It's not often you do something like this."

"Hey, I've absolutely done nice things before. I doItdon'tall the time, like giving you an extra burger at the cookout. And I don't know how to dance, but I can't imagine I'm any worse than you. " 

"I don't eat."

"But I still gave them to you! You know how much shit Sam gave me after that?! day and night taunting, and I had nothing! It's like he actively restricts himself from doing embarrassing things." Out of both couples, there was no discussion over who was the most affectionate, but it was almost laughable how much restraint Sam and Eilene showed. As soon as they walked in, it was like they telepathically agreed to avoid each other beyond cordial greetings. It was a ploy against them. They both were sure of it.

"Oh, what a noble fight of yours, so sorry to put you in that predicament. Have you recovered all right? Do you need anything to help out with the trauma this event has left you with?" He reached in for a hug, happy to see Dean wasn't too upset to return it. He slipped his arms around his waist and stayed huddled together. Chuckling against the taller man's neck, if you can't beat them, join them, so it quickly went from an even playing field to a gang up against Dean. All in good fun, of course.

"Very funny, look how much I'm laughing." To be betrayed by your brother, fair, he could maybe let that slide, but by Cas. Unacceptable, but the kiss Cas gave him on the cheek almost made him want to forgive him.

"But you aren't," Cas responded, quickly stealing another forehead kiss and slowly wrapping his arms around Dean's waist, catching up. The taller man put his arms around his neck, starting to sway them in beat to the music.

"Maybe I am. We should go on another trip." Dean had settled down, felt nice, but every now and then, he felt the urge just to drop everything and go, and when he did, Cas was ready, packing and calling to use his vacation days. Not that he really needed it, Maria, the owner, a stout Mexican woman with kind eyes and a generally welcoming aura, forgave everything the angel did. It was a running gag amongst his coworkers that she had hired him for the company. His skill was an added bonus. 

Castiel was always happy to join in on his trips, but Dean never said he wanted a break. It was always because he's bored. He never said it for what it was, that it was stressful to leave everything behind even if they had been puppeteered into it. That just like Cas had to wrestle his paranoia, the hunter had to wrestle his need to be better, to do something. He'd gotten better, tracking cases and fast-forwarding them to other hunters rather than mull over what he should do. 

"Another?" Maybe it was something stupid to obsess over, but Dean deserved it. To know that taking a break, no matter how long, wasn't a crime or cowardly. And more than anything that he was most definitely entitled to do so.

"Yeah, don't you remember?" But that was for another day, a day where they weren't both happy and at peace, another day when they could afford a conversation that would no doubt drain them.

"Unless you mean that one time we drove from here to Virginia." The drive had been nice. Dean thought it was boring. But after spending most of his life on the road, Cas doubted anything on the road could ever catch his interest. Cas liked it, especially the cows. It was amazing how much of the trip was passing through ranch land, specks of white and black, and the very appreciated close up of a cow fearless enough to stroll to the edge of the highway. Sometimes Dean would pullover so he could get a picture, pretending to be upset. Castiel wanted one, and Dean did too, but secretively, they had wanted to expand from chickens.

"It was a road trip! To Virginia Beach! It was practically a vacation. All the elements were there. How was I supposed to know it was going to be cold as balls." Dean's personal vendetta against using the heater unless absolutely necessary had been a point of contention during the drive. Shivering and huffing but still refusing to turn on the heater. But he complained, by God he complained. About the cold, and then about Cas wanting him to turn the heater on and back to being cold again.

"It was November, of course, it was going to be cold, and even then, we did nothing. You didn't have anything planned. I don't think laying in the hotel room eating and watching television classifies as a well-spent trip." He said, snickering as Dean stepped on him again. Truly ungraceful, all they were doing was swaying, and he still managed to trample his foot.

"Uh uh uh, you have to be joking. You know it was a vacation we took a week off work, the full nine yards! There was a hotel. There was me and you, all the things necessary for a successful vacation. Not to mention that I even let you order hotel service for me." It was nice, much better than any other hotel they had stayed in together before, albeit they were more well versed in shady inns and run-down motels. Dean had noticeably been proud of his choice of room, it was the first time he had planned their time off all by himself, and despite the temperature mishap, it had gone relatively well.

"Thank you for that," They both burst into laughter. It was always an experience going out together on a date or for lunch on their break, to have the server bring plates of food and for Cas not to even touch it. "I've wanted to go to California. I talked about it with Sam, reminiscing about his university days. It sounded lovely. I know you don't like it, even though you've only been there for a total of three trips, but it could be fun."

Despite Dean's best efforts to bash on the golden state, Sam spoke too highly of it for any of the insults to really stick. Everywhere had issues with Los Angeles. It just happened to be Hollywood. Sam had only ever lived further north than Los Angeles, a part of the state that many people forgot, all mountains and trees. A drastic change from the heavily exploited city blasted on the media. The city of Stanford was still more populated than their town, but much less than anyone would expect for the state.

"I'd do it for you, as long as you don't blame me for your flowers dying, we have to book a hotel and let Sammy know. He'll be a bitch if we go to California and don't visit him." Unable to hold himself back Castiel, reached for a kiss, soft and loving. Resting his head back on Dean's shoulder. He would be upset if his flowers died. He'd only barely gotten them to bloom, irises for Dean and tulips for Castiel. It was a bit surprising to know that Dean even had a favorite flower, but in his eyes, any flower with a beard was badass enough to have his respect. 

"I'll book the hotel. You message Sam. I'm sure you haven't called him in a bit. Maybe we  _ should _ get sprinklers." He had long resisted the idea of getting sprinklers, The song had slowed down, coming to its end, and they both gradually came to a stop as  _ "Hey Jude" _ started. It wasn't the one he was accustomed to hearing, nor was it the same rustic charm it held when Dean hummed it, it was straightforward and elegant. A piano cover with no vocals.

"This was one of my mom's favorite songs. I used to sing it all the time, never played it on the radio, though. I never wanted her to. It always sounded best when she sang it." He said it with so much love and affection. Castiel hoped he spoke of him that way too, when someone at work or when he ran errands asked him who he was; how he was; and what he was up to. That Dean could find little things to love about him just as much as the big things. He hoped that he felt the same as Castiel did, that there was no one more well suited than the man he was swaying with right now. The same man who poked him to get out of bed before giving up and exiting the room, leaving him with a kiss on the forehead, who always called during his break to keep him company even if his coworkers teased him endlessly, the same one who asked him to stay.

After all this time apart, tugging and pulling, fighting for themselves, they could finally let go of that need to be on guard, drifting towards each other and finally uniting. There were a lot of things Castiel didn't and would never know, things that no amount of hours searching or praying would be found, but what he did know he held dear. He knew Dean Winchester was something he could never forget.


End file.
